The Wiseman Revelation (The Wiseman Series Book 2)

by Hightower, R. C.

  Langston tried to tune out Cody as he opened another window and started cloaking the activated nanos. If anyone—namely Dr. Pillay or Everett—did an audit, Langston needed to make it appear that all of the nanos were accounted for and still deactivated. He typed a script to isolate and hide the activated nanos that were currently circulating in his body.

  “… I told Miriam that the power button wasn’t even on!” Cody said. “Thirty minutes of troubleshooting, and no one bothered to see if it was plugged in. Rookie mistake. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Hilarious.”

  Langston hit the enter key just as Everett returned prematurely. “I thought it was in my car, but I found some in my desk. I put it next to your coffee.”

  “Thanks,” Langston said.

  Thankfully, Everett started talking to Cody so Langston didn’t have to pretend to keep listening to him ramble.

  He looked down and tried not to panic. The progress bar for the cloaking program was stuck at seventy-two percent, and now Everett and Cody were walking toward him.

  “Is that test folder I set up on the desktop?” Everett asked.

  The progress bar crept to seventy-three percent. Langston could feel his shirt sticking to his sweaty back. “Oh, it was backed up, so I deleted it.”

  Seventy-four percent.

  Come on, come on! Langston silently called the computer a string of ugly names. Everett was about five feet away, and Cody was right behind him. Langston inched his right hand toward a full test tube rack and pushed it off the side of the table. It crashed at Everett’s feet, and he jumped back from the broken glass.

  “My bad,” Langston said. “I didn’t see that there.”

  Seventy-nine percent.

  “I’ll get the broom,” Cody said.

  Langston wiped the perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his shaking hand.

  “Seriously, are you sure you’re going to make it?” Everett asked. “You look like hell.”

  Eight-three percent.

  “No… yeah. I’ll be fine. I just feel kind of hot. Gastrointestinal distress. You know how it is.”

  Everett nodded slowly as if he wasn’t sure if he really did know. Cody handed Everett the broom, and he swept up the glass and put the empty rack back on the counter.

  The bar jumped to ninety-seven percent. Langston drummed his fingers on the desk as Everett dumped the glass in the trash can by the door and put up the broom. The progress bar finally completed. Langston exited the program and jumped off the seat, shutting down the computer.

  “I’m going to take that Imodium now. Be right back.”

  He noted Cody’s questioning gaze, but he kept walking until he was back in his office.

  Chapter Two

  That evening, Langston parked his three-wheeled motorcycle in the frigid parking deck of his apartment building and took off his helmet. Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he jogged to the elevator and rode down to the lobby. He was ready to kick off his shoes, hang out on the couch, and eat pizza.

  Walking out of the elevator, Langston looked in his bag for his mailbox key and collided with someone. He heard a squeal as a young woman fell to her knees, dropping several envelopes. He looked down and recognized the back of his dream girl’s head. He’d just bulldozed her to the floor.

  Great.

  Langston scooped up the mail spread across the tiles. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to find my key. Sorry.”

  She stood, and Langston handed her the envelopes. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  “It’s okay.” She sniffed. “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

  He dug in his pockets for a tissue, but only found three nickels and a paperclip. “Are you hurt?”

  She laughed and wiped her eyes. “No, no.” She pointed to her face. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you. I… never mind.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She walked to the elevator.

  Langston’s heart was beating so hard that he was sure she could hear it. He stared at the back of her head trying to work up the courage to say something, but the elevator doors opened, she walked in, and the doors closed.

  “Hi, my name is Langston,” he said to the elevator doors. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Can I buy you a coffee?”

  Johnny cleared his throat at the front entrance. “You have got to do better, son.”

  “It’s my birthday, Johnny. Give me a break.”

  “Oh, really? You should have told me that this morning.”

  “I was a little busy this morning.”

  “That you were.” Johnny chuckled. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But you still need to do better.”

  “Bye, Johnny.”

  “You don’t have to get prickly.”

  Langston retrieved his mail and took the elevator to the fourth floor. When the doors opened, he didn’t get out.

  “Just do it,” he said to himself.

  He pushed the button for the second floor and found “Miss Lewis” sitting on the floor in front of her door, rummaging in a purse.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up. “Hey.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for my keys which I’m pretty sure I left at work. Worst. Day. Ever.”

  “Yeah, I can relate.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “You didn’t have the best morning, did you?”

  “It didn’t feel as bad as it looked,” Langston lied.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Are you?”

  She made a dismissive gesture and shook her head.

  Langston sat next to her and put down his helmet. “I’m Langston. I live upstairs.”

  “I know who you are.”

  Langston blinked. “You do?”

  “Johnny said you were getting a Ph.D. at Washington.”

  “Johnny?”

  “Yeah. He talks you up all the time.”

  Langston didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed.

  “He said you have a hard time talking to women.”

  Annoyed.

  Langston leaned heavily against the wall. “Wow.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed about. I don’t exactly have a stellar dating record either.”

  She sniffed and let her head rest on her door with a soft thud. She had a cinnamon brown, heart-shaped face, with buttery smooth skin. Her hair was thick and curly, like a thousand shiny black coils springing out of her head. She’d somehow managed to get most of it into a crooked ponytail. Black smudges were on her chin and hands. She wore a long pink sweater, black leggings, and pink sneakers. Her eyelids looked heavy, and Langston could tell she was tired.

  She turned to at him. “What are you doing down here?”

  Langston picked at the carpet. “I was actually coming to see you.”

  She grabbed the stack of mail beside her and sifted through it. “Did I leave something downstairs?”

  “No.” Langston said. “You looked like you were having a rough day. Just seeing if you wanted someone to talk to.”

  She looked taken aback. Her smudged chin trembled, and tears started streaming down her face. He dug in his pocket for a tissue again and came up with the same three nickels and paperclip. He offered her his sleeve.

  She looked at his arm and choked out a laugh. “Today was totally crazy.”

  Langston dropped his arm. “I’m all ears.”

  “You don’t want to hear this.”

  “Try me. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

  She hesitated.

  “Seriously,” Langston said. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

  She brushed back the hair that had escaped her ponytail holder. “This morning a very dirty homeless man tried to show me his… you know… thing.”

  Langston raised his eyebrows.

  “I know that sort of stuff happens,” she said, “but I’ve never had to experience t
hat until today. It was not pleasant. And as soon as I got to campus, I stepped in a huge puddle, so my feet have been ice blocks all day. My dad owns a bakery and I help him out sometimes after class. When I got there, he told me my big sister from Fresno had called. She was about to have an emergency C-section.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, but I promised her I’d be there when the baby was born, and I missed it. She was supposed to have a scheduled C-section, and we had it all planned out so that I could get there the day before. Her husband is awesome, but it meant a lot to her for me to be there since our mom passed away last year.” She took a deep breath and seemed to calm slightly. “I was so upset I forgot about some muffins in the oven, and they caught fire. How does that happen? I’ve burned food before, but these were actually on fire.”

  Langston smiled. “And I thought my day was bad.”

  “Enough of my pity party.” She got up, wiggling her cell phone. “My battery is dead, of course, so I need to get on the bus and catch my dad before he closes up shop.”

  Langston stood up. He knew he could offer his cell phone, but this was an opportunity he didn’t want to miss. “I can give you a ride.”

  She eyed his helmet. “I have a phobia about bikes.”

  “No problem,” Langston said. “I have a car too.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “The heater is phenomenal. I can defrost those blocks of ice you’ve been walking on all day.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t catch your name.”

  She offered her hand formally. “I’m Jade Lewis, Seattle University senior and apparent muffin killer.”

  Langston shook her hand. It was as soft as he’d imaged. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jade.” He pointed to the elevator. “Shall we?”

  They rode to the parking deck in silence, and Jade followed him to his silver Audi. He opened the passenger door for her.

  She got in. “Thanks.”

  Langston got in behind the wheel. As he navigated the car through the parking deck, he turned on the heat full blast. Jade’s perfume wafted over to him. It was spicy and slightly floral with a hint of citrus, reminding him of earl grey tea. He liked it. A lot.

  He tapped the console. “I think we have the same phone. There’s a car charger in here if you want to use it.”

  “Thanks.” She found the charger cable, connected it to a port in the console, and plugged in her phone.

  “Did your sister have a boy or a girl?” Langston asked.

  “Justine—that’s my sister—had a girl. Isabella Rose.”

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Yeah,” she said sadly.

  “You shouldn’t beat yourself up. It was an emergency, and you’re in a different state.”

  “Yeah,” she repeated.

  Langston figured he needed to change the subject. “So you’re a senior?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s your major?”

  “Music. String Performance.”

  Langston glanced at her, smiling. “That explains the cello.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Let’s talk about you.”

  Let’s not.

  “Have you always lived here?” she asked.

  “Pretty much. I was born in North Carolina, but we moved here before I was one.”

  “Are your parents here too?”

  “My mom lives about thirty minutes away.”

  “Brothers or sisters?”

  Langston stared ahead, working his mouth, but not saying anything.

  Jade let out a little laugh. “You don’t know?”

  “No, no, it’s not that.” He pointed at an upcoming intersection. “I’m just not sure where I’m going.”

  “Oh, sorry. Take a right at the next light.”

  Langston nodded and remained silent after he took the turn.

  “So…?” Jade said.

  He felt a wave of nausea and swallowed, hearing an eerie voice resound in his head. Rise and shine, Langston.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’m good. Um, no. No siblings.”

  “Only child then? Nice.”

  He started to sweat and turned the heat down. “Mmmhmm.”

  “Johnny said you were working on something interesting.”

  “Yeah. I’m on a team developing nanorobots.”

  “Cool. What are they for?” Jade pointed. “Make a left where that black car is turning.”

  “Trauma resolution.” Langston absently rubbed the healed injection site on his thigh. “Theoretically, they’ll stop or slow down a hemorrhage by stitching an internal cut or gash.”

  “Wow. That sounds amazing.”

  He nodded. “It is, but we’re a few years out from being able to use the technology. There are some challenges yet to be resolved.”

  “Do you swallow them like a pill?”

  “No. These go straight into the bloodstream.”

  Jade twisted her lips pensively. “Won’t they rust?”

  Langston chuckled. “No, they’re made of silicon.”

  “Do they move around like little submarines?”

  “They have flagella— tails— that whip around and propel them.”

  “Ew.”

  “Hey,” he shrugged, “some engineers are developing nanos that crawl on the walls of your arteries.”

  “Ew, ew, ew!” Jade shuddered. “Okay, say I get in a knife fight—”

  Langston laughed. “Whoa, what kind of double life are you living, Jade?”

  She giggled. “No, just listen. Say I was injected with the nanorobots and then got stabbed in the stomach. They’d stop me from bleeding?”

  “They haven’t been through the full battery of tests yet, but theoretically, yes.”

  “But how would they know where to go? And when they got there, how would they stop the bleeding? Would they stick together and form a silicon bandage?”

  “That’s an interesting concept, but no. They pick up on a chemical signal released by activated platelets. They follow the platelets to the bleeding site.”

  “In essence, your little robots are ambulance chasers.”

  “Yeah… I guess they are.” Langston smiled. “But unlike adrenaline junkies, these nanos will actually be helpful. They’ll assist the platelets and thrombin by deploying a kind of sticky net that the red blood cells will get caught in. This increases the rate of coagulation exponentially. Then, if need be, the nanos can start suturing.”

  “You came up with all of that?”

  “We’re just taking the concept further. Ever heard of Robert Freitas?”

  “No.”

  “You should look him up. He literally wrote the book on nanomedicine. We got most of our concepts from him, and then added things like knitting needles.”

  Jade looked impressed. “It sounds so futuristic.”

  “It’s closer than you think.” Especially since you’re sitting next to the test host.

  “We’re here,” she said. “See the green awning on the right? Park there.”

  Langston parallel parked in front of a cheerful looking storefront with the name “Butters” artfully painted on the glass door. Jade got out and hugged a caramel-colored man locking the front door. He was paunchy with a kind face. Jade spoke to him, then pointed to the car. The man handed his keys to Jade and walked to the curb. Jade disappeared inside the building.

  Langston got out of the car and shook the man’s hand when he offered it.

  “Hello. I’m Jade’s dad.”

  “Hi, Mr. Lewis, I’m Langston. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Call me Murphy.” He smiled. “I understand you live in the same apartment building as my daughter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Murphy nodded approvingly. “Nice place. Safe.”

  “Good staff, too,” Langston added.

  Murphy untied his apron, splattered with flour and batter. “I tried to get her to pick a less pricey place, but that�
�s what she wanted, and since her mom left her well-off, there wasn’t much I could say.” Murphy touched his left hand, and Langston saw that he still wore his wedding ring.

  Jade walked out of the bakery, holding up a key ring. “Got ‘em!”

  Murphy waited for Jade to join them. “Langston, thank you for giving my little girl a ride.” He kissed his daughter on the cheek as she handed him the bakery keys. “See you Sunday?”

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  “Alright then.” Murphy waved and walked around the back of the bakery where Langston guessed Murphy’s car was parked.

  Langston and Jade got back in the car. Jade checked her phone, and the screen lit up. She tapped it a few times and then showed it to Langston. “Here’s Isabella.”

  Langston saw the ubiquitous newborn picture: a squinting baby wearing a little cap and bundled in a multicolor striped blanket.

  “Congrats to your family.”

  Jade beamed. “Thanks.”

  “Hungry?” Langston asked, pulling back onto the road. “I was thinking about grabbing something to eat before we go back.”

  “I’d love to.” She looked down at her clothes. “I’m a mess though. Maybe tomorrow?”

  Time to pull the birthday card. “Tomorrow won’t be my birthday.”

  “Today’s your birthday?”

  “Yep.”

  She looked embarrassed. “I feel like a jerk. Here I’ve been complaining about my day and probably ruined your plans.”

  “I didn’t have any plans.”

  “Don’t you want to, you know, go out with your friends?”

  “I’m sort of a homebody.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Me, too. I had a birthday this summer. You’re a little young for a Ph.D. student, aren’t you?”

  “I skipped a couple grades.”

  “Oh. Were you, like, one of those child geniuses or something?”

  “School was just easy for me,” Langston said. “So, how about dinner?”

  She smiled. “I have a better idea. I think both of us could use a drink. Why don’t we check out that new bar near our building? I can change really quick, and then we can walk over. My treat.”

  A few hours and several drinks later, Langston and Jade were holding microphones on a small stage and massacring Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure.”